Gordon Ramsay On The Business Of Building An Empire

Ask someone to name a chef. The answer will almost certainly be Gordon Ramsay. Where most chefs of his calibre chase Michelin stars, he’s not stopped there: with a name as recognizable as any global brand, he’s not only at the helm of a global culinary conglomerate, consisting of 94 restaurants, but a billion-dollar media empire. Ramsay is, without question, one of the most successful chefs of all time.

Still, three decades into an illustrious career, he’s a caricature of rage and brilliance to the casual observer—best-known for dismantling deluded restaurateurs on television, turning those open to his advice into viable businesses and, of course, placing two pieces of bread between a woman’s head to create an ‘idiot sandwich’ in what has become one of the internet’s most enduring memes. And while his virality has certainly propelled his fame, at 58, Ramsay is much more than a media personality or a chef; he’s an economic force.

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Nowhere is that more evident than at his latest venture: 22 Bishopsgate, now the tallest restaurant destination in London, soaring 62 stories above London. The multi-level project is home to four separate concepts—Lucky Cat, Restaurant Gordon Ramsay High and the Gordon Ramsay Academy, soon to be followed by a new outpost of Bread Street Kitchen.

“We were fighting off strong competition to land this space,” Ramsay says. “You look at The Shard, The Walkie-Talkie, The London Eye, all these iconic buildings we grew up with. I never thought I’d have the money or the following to set up something like that. To be honest, it’s a dream come true.”

But dreams don’t come cheap. In Ramsay’s estimations, his restaurant group has already spent an excess of £20 million [$25 million] on the project. “We’ve got one of the most expensive rents in the world to pay, and we depend on a high footfall to fulfill it, but we’re averaging 1000 calls a day. I think there are already 20,000 reservations on the books. That’s stadium numbers.

The stakes are enormous—not just financially, but in expectation. There are hundreds of seats to fill each night, some 250 employees to manage, and with a venue that large, miscalculations aren’t an option. “I am feeling the pressure, but I do think pressure is healthy. We’re well-oiled and have had an incredible run at it. It’s not our first rodeo.”

It’s nearly rodeo number 100, in fact—almost thirty years after its 1998 incorporation, Gordon Ramsay Restaurants has 37 U.K. locations, 35 in the U.S., and 22 internationally, spanning Shanghai, South Korea, Malaysia, France, Dubai, Singapore, and Thailand.

A business built as much on instinct as strategy, the crown jewel of his empire—Restaurant Gordon Ramsay in Chelsea—has held three Michelin stars for over two decades, while the group has a total of 8 Michelin stars internationally.

Across the group’s portfolio, Ramsay has mastered the balance between fine-dining and the kind of mass appeal that ensures his name remains synonymous with the industry itself. His Hell’s Kitchen restaurants, inspired by his long-running TV show, have turned into pilgrimage sites for fans—particularly the Las Vegas outpost—where queues are constant, and a beef Wellington is as much a menu item as it is a souvenir.

And then there’s Lucky Cat—a concept rooted in his travels across southeast Asia, decades in the making. “When I first started in Paris, I remember working with the late Joël Robuchon, and that was iconic. He had this Japanese sort of crossover, and it was the first time I’d seen that wonderful mix between Asia and ‘haute cuisine’. And then I saw that he was opening up in Japan, so after I finished Paris I went to Kyoto, wondering what all the noise was about.”

That curiosity evolved into full immersion. He went on a three-month tour around Southeast Asia, followed by a trip to Cambodia and Lao to immerse himself further. “I couldn’t quite believe the fragrance, the insight,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to become that chef that connected those dots with respect, highlighting the culture, understanding how they eat, and then making it appealing to the Western palate. That’s a fine gig, that.”

The first iteration of Lucky Cat opened in Mayfair in 2019, designed as a love letter to Tokyo’s drinking dens and Shanghai’s late-night haunts. It was an instant success—dark, stylish, intimate, with a menu that balanced technique and indulgence. Four years later, he set his sights on Miami—a city in the midst of its own dining renaissance—and the timing couldn’t have been better.

Debuting in February 2024, in the thick of what many have called the city’s most exciting dining renaissance in decades, the launch felt different—more than just another big-name chef staking a claim on South Beach.

Extortionate as Miami Beach real estate rent may be, it was a calculated move that recognized the city’s evolution from a transient party town into a global food destination with a discerning, year-round clientele. The restaurant itself is a reflection of the shift: sleek but warm, luxurious but pretention-free, turning out a mix of Lucky Cat’s core international dishes, as well as plenty of its own. The team behind it is one of the strongest Ramsay has assembled—world-class chefs, a front-of-house team that understands the city thrives on energy, and a drinks program designed to pull in the late-night crowd without losing sight of the food.

And the gamble seems to be paying off—since its opening, Lucky Cat Miami has become one of the most talked-about new restaurants in the city, booked out for weeks in advance.

Understandably, that’s why Lucky Cat has not just become part of 22 Bishopsgate, but the main event, the brand strong enough to sit at the very top of London’s tallest dining destination, boasting over 30 new, exclusive Lucky Cat dishes from executive head chef Michael Howells.

Yet, as with everything bearing Ramsay’s name, Lucky Cat hasn’t come without scrutiny. The original Mayfair launch drew criticism from those questioning who gets to cook whose food—a debate that has become increasingly charged in the restaurant world.

Ramsay, who has spent years studying the cuisines that inspire him, sees the argument differently. “I spend a lot of time in the U.S., and some of the most prolific chefs in California, running Japanese restaurants are Mexican. What does that say?” he raises his eyebrows.

“It’s not about what your ethnicity is or your background. If you’re good enough for the job, then you should be wearing those stripes. I find incredibly derogative to pin a target on somebody that they can’t cook Italian cusine because they’re not from Naples. That stuff doesn’t wash. Also, it’s not good to teach young chefs to be narrow-minded, to stick to their cultural roots.”

He sighs. “Everything we do, there’s always a percentage of the negativity and naysayers. I’m well-versed in that. I have skin like a rhino now, always poked and prodded—the secret is not to take the bait and focus on the day job.”

At Bishopsgate, the day job has quite literally been taken to new heights—though it’s also come with controversies of their own. According to Ramsay, there have been a number of couples going into the restrooms and treating it like the “mile high” club, given its cloud-level height, and a number of people stealing the restaurant’s gold cat-shaped chopstick rests, amounting to more than £2,000 [$2,549] in the first week also.

“I also opened my big mouth last week and said ‘well, if it’s cloudy, it’s all on me!’, so of course I got people f***ing emailing me saying ‘it was cloudy, I’m here for my dinner refund’. And I’m like, ‘oh…s***’,” he laughs.

Behind the bravado, the restaurant empire Ramsay has built—and the risks he takes to expand it—didn’t come easy. In 2010, Ramsay found himself in high-profile fallout with his father-in-law—the man who had long overseen the financial side of Gordon Ramsay Holdings—after Ramsay discovered financial irregularities and accused him of mismanaging company funds. The split was brutal, involving lawsuits, a public war of words, and a restructuring that forced Ramsay to take control of the business on his own.

“After the fallout of my father-in-law I had to hold the reins for the first time, and all of a sudden this founder-chef-chairman was the f***ing CEO, the CFO, the COO,” he throws his hands up. “I had to rebuild. Had to get to grips with so much: How do you understand P&L? How do you sit with the board of directors in front of the bank?”

It was a trial by fire, but it also redefined the trajectory of his empire. “Behind every successful chef, you need a business mind, but we’re not generally good at running businesses. We’re too generous and there needs to be a cut-off point. You can be one of the most talented or sought-after chefs in the world, three-star Michelin, but if you can’t turn that into money and success, then you’re a busy idiot.”

By 2019, Ramsay knew that if he wanted to take his brand to the next level, he needed more than just talent and instinct—he needed capital. “ I put my business hat on. I sat with numerous investors, and Lion Capital were a perfect fit.”

Lion Capital, a firm known for backing high-growth consumer brands, had already played a key role in scaling businesses like Weetabix, Wagamama, and Kettle Foods. Their $100 million investment into Gordon Ramsay North America marked a turning point—not just in terms of expansion, but in how Ramsay structured his company. “I came away from that 90-minute meeting liking, respecting, and trusting them. It wasn’t a three- or five-year plan about an exit or an IPO. They said they were behind me, and I think that was the final seal of that deal.”

The investment allowed Ramsay to expand aggressively across the U.S. and, ultimately, changed the way he thought about ownership. “I could never have grown like this without them, and letting go of that 100% ownership,” he tilts his head. “You don’t want 100% ownership in a tiny pool, but 50% in a big pool…”

Bishopsgate is a long way from where his business was six years ago—longer still from the small house in Stratford-upon-Avon where he grew up, washing pots at his local Indian restaurant—and he hasn’t forgotten what it’s taken to get here. “I find it emotional, because I had to convince my wife to sell our apartment to get the deposit for Restaurant Gordon Ramsay, because the bank wouldn’t back us. Royal Hospital Road [the site] only had a three-year lease, and it was a million pounds for three years, so no bank would touch me,” he stops himself before things get too sentimental. “You can’t get hung up on emotions. It’s business. Don’t wear your heart on your chef’s jacket.

“Yeah, it’s a personal journey. But then when you’ve got the right kind of fuel and the right kind of support, it becomes less about emotion and more about drive.”

But recognition, influence, the kind of success that lets you build entire restaurants 60 stories above London? That doesn’t come without a cost. Ramsay knows this better than anyone.

“Fame. I hate that word fame. And I don’t use the word hate a lot,” Ramsay says. “I didn’t choose to get famous, I chose to get busy. I chose to master my craft. I chose to continue sticking at it.”

It’s a distinction that matters. The TV personality is a byproduct of the chef, not the other way around. “No, I’m not a f***ing TV chef. Don’t call me that. I’m a chef that works on TV. There’s a big difference, yeah, and that’s not in a defensive manner, I just wouldn’t be around this long if I hadn’t continued plugging in and adapting and learning.”

“You don’t like the F-word?” I ask, bemused, knowing no word in the English language is quite as closely associated with a single person as f*** is with Ramsay.

He laughs, sitting up straighter. “I love the word f***. It’s an industry language. Do I swear at my son in the morning to get his s*** together and eat his f***ing Cheerios? No, he’s five years old, but delivering a ‘f*** off’ is so beautiful. It’s a lovely thing.

“Please. F*** off,” he grins.

Before I take the hint and let him get back to business, I can’t help but ask—what could possibly be left to achieve as a chef and entrepreneur?

“There’s one stick left in the ground. That’s three stars in France. I don’t know why, but we’re two stars in Bordeaux. Stupidly, yeah, there’s one ambition,” he laughs. “I f***ing know my craft.”

But craft alone doesn’t build an empire, nor sustain one. “Honestly, I don’t want to be chained to the stove. I don’t want to die behind the line, suffer a heart attack behind the line. I want to teach. I want to lift the culinary world, and I want to continue preparing talent. That’s the responsibility now.”